


With pleasure, officer

by kuillsins (EykielAfterDark)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bottom Shiro, Dirty Talk, Humiliation, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Rimming, Roleplay, Roleplay outside the bedroom, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 04:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9475913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EykielAfterDark/pseuds/kuillsins
Summary: Who else would want to go out of their way to care for Keith when it’s soon approaching lights-out, who else except a law-abiding paragon of hope and upright morals in the streets but a dirty masochist vocal about his million fantasies and so eager to be trussed up with his own sheets?Shiroganefuck-me-harderTakashi, that’s who.“Eyes front, officer.”“Y-Yes sir,” Shiro says.----Power play Sheiths defiling everything in the Garrison, including the officers' code of conduct.





	

**Author's Note:**

> never enough '''''''problematic''''''' content. one day i'll have shiro and keith fuck in every possible room in the garrison :)

Much to the chagrin of the tired, overworked corporal, Keith is unapologetic when the sim dies.

“Oops,” says Keith, “Guess that was procedure 14H and not 13H.”

The corporal overseeing his section drives a hand into her worn, exhausted face, the poor soul visibly wrestling for a little more self-control.

“Radio procedures are stupid,” Keith says to explain his mistake. He doesn’t look _or_ feel anywhere as tired as any of his section mates or the corporal who must be ready to contemplate giving up her years of accumulated Garrison prestige for a nice, calm life free from petulant unrepentant cadets that never seem to learn from past mistakes though the class has been through this portion of the manual at least seventeen damn times in the past hour alone.

That’s understandable. Keith relates.

“Okay,” says the corporal. Her jaw had set when he wasn’t looking.

This is the gaze of someone who ready to face the problem head on — by acknowledging that she can’t do squat and swiftly delegating it to someone else so she can be rid of this problem, if not permanently then at least to pretend that problems shared are problems halved.

“Okay,” she says again, then leads him over to the observation room with a spring in her step that hasn’t been there since the rest of the class was dismissed. She pushes the door open without waiting for permission to enter, steps in, and demands, “Officer, I was wondering if you could help?”

Keith hovers on the doorway, gaze dark.

Three officers are at the table. They are deep in conversation, something important that had all their faces in deep scowls and stacks of papers strewn urgently across the table. Or at least, they were.

It’s clear who has generously been assigned this task; the request so purposefully open-ended hangs accusingly in the silence and of course it has to be officer Shirogane who finally stands and clears his throat. “I’ll take it from here, Laina. Go get some rest.”

The corporal gives her officer a limp salute and flees the scene eagerly, no doubt eager to reclaim some of her lost knockoff time and sanity.

Keith sticks his hands in his pockets, interrupting Shiro’s muttered apologies to his colleagues with a growl, “How come she gets rest and I don’t?”

Another hushed silence. Shirogane almost twitches, hands pausing in an uncharacteristic falter in the midst of gathering his stationery. “Because she’s been working harder than you,” he finally says. Those grey eyes follow Keith’s hands to his pockets.

Keith holds his gaze for a while more, taking in the slightly tense muscles along the officer’s brow.

Shirogane stares back. His jaws are clenched.

“What?” asks Keith harshly.

“Is something the matter, cadet?” asks Shirogane, which surprises him.

“No, officer,” says Keith after slight hesitation, choosing instead to scowl an imaginary hole into the door. A second more and he opts to tug his hands from his pockets and fold his arms.

With a long exhale Shirogane carefully continues to pick up his things. The officers who are still seated gave him reproachful shakes of their heads because that’s the best they can do at this point: it’s already 21:39 and which idiot would willingly take _The_ black sheep Keith Kogane under their wing when it only meant unnecessary hours of extra work and permanent frown lines and white hair long before retirement?

Shirogane fucking Takashi, that’s who.

“Come on, Keith,” says Shirogane, leading the way to his office, where they’ll have a little more privacy to go over the inane radio procedures that Keith has long ago since memorised down to the T.

They make their way down the quickly emptying halls. The officer’s footsteps are harried and just the slightest bit off kilter.

“Did you have fun?” Keith asks abruptly, and that actually makes Shiro’s body tense. The papers nearly slip from his grasp and one of his pens fall to the ground.

Airily, Keith watches the officer stare helplessly at his pen.

Neither of them move to retrieve it.

“Pick it up, cadet,” says Shirogane. A trickle of sweat runs down his face.

Ah, the infallible shield of authority. Keith knows this game. Shirogane’s just trying to delay the inevitable at this point, though it’s amazing how long he’s lasted. Patience and focus _really_ does bring a man to new heights. Keith’s impressed, but not won over. Reading his expression Shirogane’s throat bobs, that wide chest catching with an unconscious breath.

Just before he can slip his hand into his pocket again the officer grinds out:

 _“Please_ pick it up, cadet.”

Finally, some decent manners in this godforsaken place. “Yes sir,” Keith drawls, then moves to pick up the fallen pen. Its Shiro’s favorite brand, a simple black ballpoint with its end newly pockmarked with the indents of teeth and frustrated gnawing.

Of course. In Keith’s trouser pocket, a tiny remote bounces with every step.

Keith smiles then, a special pull of his lips that weighs more like a leer and always makes Shiro blush, it’s lopsided and revealing canines and the kind that tells of how wet he is just thinking about Shiro stuffed full with that vibrating length and at the mercy to everything Keith dishes out for him.

He twirls the pen easily in his fingers, enjoying the weight of Shiro’s gaze on his thigh. “Eyes front.”

“Y-Yes sir,” Shiro says.

They finally make it to Shiro’s office. Keith leans against the doorframe as Shiro fumbles with his keys unenthusiastically.

He realises Shiro’s staring at him, and especially with the officer’s hips tilted just so to reveal a small wet patch at the crotch of his grey trousers, Shiro is the perfect picture of the most beautiful, wordless, desperate plea.

Who else would want to go out of their way to care for Keith when it’s soon approaching lights-out, who else except a law-abiding paragon of hope and upright morals in the streets but a dirty masochist vocal about his million fantasies and so eager to be trussed up with his own sheets?

Shirogane _fuck-me-harder_ Takashi, that’s who.

“Soon, baby,” he purrs with immense and genuine satisfaction, and Shiro’s hand shakes and the key finally turns with an ominous _click_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Inside, Keith barely has time to set his things down on the desk when Shiro’s lightly tugging on the sleeve of his orange cadet uniform, face a deep crimson and a “Sir,” falling breathlessly from parted lips.

How he loves seeing the man like this, already on tenterhooks and fit to snap in two at the slightest touch. Shiro leans in, pressing Keith’s hip backwards into the desk as he chases after a kiss. Keith lets the manhandling happen. It’s all teeth and groans and hands groping eagerly at his ass, the edge of Shiro’s very expensive reading lamp digging into the small of his back as he maneuvers a thigh between Shiro’s legs. Immediately Shiro rocks his hips, ash grey pupils giving way to sheer onyx glossed over with arousal and lust.

“Baby…” Shiro pants. “Need you.”

The officer pushes forward a second time and Keith has to steady himself with a hand thrown out recklessly across the edge of the desk. Papers flutter to the ground and something else clatters across the floor.

“Please.”

He can feel Shiro’s length, hard and aching, even through all the offending layers of clothes and damn if it doesn't make him leak a little in response.

“No, not yet.” Keith slides a finger against Shiro’s seeking lips and Shiro honest-to-god wilts. This simple control and acquiescence is a rush unlike anything else Keith knows. He’s a junkie for adrenaline and for pushing the limits of flight but this, reducing a powerful muscular frame to nothing but pliance in his fingers is a different thrill all in all.

It’s hot, and _fuck_ if Keith’s hooked on this too. Shiro knows, probably, because they go through this every time. Shiro will beg and Keith will deny — not that Keith has anything to complain about, because after the first _no_ Shiro seems to become hotter for him. Sweeter for him.

This time, this time is no exception. With his fingertip perched on that plump, reddened bottom lip, when Shiro’s tongue flicks out Keith can see it all happening in beautiful slow motion. That playful tongue drags moisture across those flushed lips, begging Keith to push his finger past Shiro’s teeth.

Shiro gingerly clasps his hands around Keith’s wrist — in that enormous grip his own arm looks so fragile — but before Shiro can start to suck in earnest Keith slides another finger alongside the first and scissors them to part Shiro’s jaws.

Keith smirks, then crooks his leg to increase the ungainly pressure in Shiro’s crotch. Shiro’s grey eyes widen and under Keith’s finger, his tongue weakly flutters around a muted “A-ah.”

“So dirty,” tuts Keith, thumbing at a spot of saliva gathering at the corner of Shiro’s lips. “What would your colleagues say if they knew you’d been carrying that vibe inside you since dinnertime?”

Shiro’s fingers tighten around Keith’s wrist. It’s incredible what hours of pleasure can do to the poker face of the garrison’s poster boy. Now Shiro’s expression is only an endless scream of _please, baby, I need to come so bad._

“They always think you’re so much better than them. But I know better.” Keith rubs his leg up, down, up, down and it doesn’t take more than a few repeated movements to coax Shiro to match it with eager rolls of his hips. That wet grey patch grows.

Around that depressed tongue and Keith’s fingers, a garbled whine falls. In thanks, Keith leans in and kisses the corner of Shiro’s mouth. Arousal gleams through the frosted grey glass of Shiro’s eyes.

“That’s right — you’re the filthiest, dirtiest, horniest, sweetest thing I’ll ever have the pleasure of nailing across your own desk.”

When he’s drifting this far, Shiro can barely even begin to think, much less react when Keith flips them easily around and pushes Shiro over his desk.

“Oh, fuck—” Shiro gasps, craning his head around to watch Keith through the dampening strands of his ink-black fringe.

He looks so beautiful like this, so innocently pliant, so ready and _wanting_ and flexing back to meet Keith’s fingers as he runs them across Shiro’s muscular back. He settles on the familiar nook where waist meets hip and Shiro arches backwards to tilt his ass up, the perfect angle they both love most.

And of course Keith whispers, _“Fuck_ yeah.”

He makes quick work of the leather belt, its metal buckle and the zipper of Shiro’s uniform — “New trousers? You’ve already ruined it—”, only pausing to thumb the hardness in Shiro’s crotch just to rile him up a little more — “Keith, s-shit, not so hard—” And as Shiro’s trousers pool around his ankles — “Shiro, _shit,_ watch your PDA. Take it, here, _here,_ put it in the drawer, and your keycard too—” the man’s stretching forward, fighting with the drawers at the other side of the desk and fumbling — “Where is it, where—” “Didn’t we just buy a new—?” “It should be there, I put it back. Oh, here, yes finally—” for the bottle of lube.

Shiro shakes the bottle and they pause. “A little light,” gasps Shiro with a bleary grin.

“Because without me you won’t be properly lubed up.”

“Makes your cock feel real good inside me though, baby—”

Keith brings his hand down on the curve of Shiro’s ass, _hard,_ and Shiro lets out a strained yelp.

“Seriously. You’re such a fucking _slut.”_

Clearly not sorry at all, Shiro actually _wriggles_ his behind and Keith contemplates burning the man’s tighty whities right off his sorry ass. “You love it.”

“Almost sorry I do.” Keith wrenches the briefs down and his gaze runs appreciatively across Shiro’s smooth ass. “At least one of us has common sense.”

The lube passes to Keith’s hands. Shiro’s part done, the man lets out a low, rumbling sound, one that he’s come to use more and more often whenever he wants to seduce Keith into doing what he wants — and god, fuck it’s working. He’s so irresistible like this. Shiro’s eyes go lidded another fraction, the man so annoyingly and gloatingly smug and then he actually fucking _clenches_ because he knows what that does to Keith.

He’s right. Of course he’s fucking right. As of now Keith’s doing all he can to resist the urge of wrap his fingers around the fine black wire trailing from Shiro’s puckered entrance and simply _tug_ and then _thrust_ in and reduce the man to incoherence again.

It’d been five hours since he’d been greeted by the sight of this wire. The longest five hours of his life. Beyond that gap, Shiro’s insides still cradle that silicone length. Keith remembers its weight between his fingers, remembers marvelling at the delicate angle and how perfectly shaped it was, the _almost-not quite_ pleasure it’d bring as it nestled just out of reach of a waiting prostate.

“Please,” comes Shiro’s voice.

Keith tears his eyes away, suddenly noticing how dry his mouth is, suddenly conscious of how much tighter his own trousers are.

“Enjoying me eating you up like this, officer?”

“Immensely, sir.” Shiro clenches again, just to rub it in. That black wire twitches. Between Keith’s legs, too, something else twitches.

Keith licks his lips. One more hearty smack to Shiro’s ass has the man gasping, fingers curling around the edge of the desk as he rides the delicious crest of pain and pleasure. Shiro’s length, hot and red and deliciously heavy, actually twitches and a clear trail of pre extends from the very tip, catching the fluorescent light of the room.

When Shiro’s eyes slide shut Keith’s hand goes to the remote in his pocket.

Shiro _groans,_ and Keith gives himself a few long seconds imagining Shiro’s entire body tensing like it’s doing now, imagining how Shiro might’ve absconded to the restroom when the vibrations got too unbearable and he thought he might shoot his load, or how Shiro might’ve simply stuck a hand between his legs under the meeting table and palmed himself through the stifling layers of trousers and briefs.

The temptation is too strong. Keith starts undoing his own trousers. “Tell me. What did you do?”

“Wanna come—” whimpers Shiro, voice high and needy again after those few minutes of respite helped him forget how _pressing_ the urge was.

“No.” Keith twines the black wire around his fingers of one hand and wriggles slightly. Shiro keens, but he merely gives one last light pull to remind Shiro of his predicament before letting go. “I’ll tie you to the chair and watch you squirm for another hour if you don’t start talking now.”

“I, I had a meeting with Iverson… Anderson was there too, and Ryuu — _fuck!”_

Keith can almost feel all the muscle down Shiro’s muscular leg tense. Shiro’s craning his head back to beg while Keith looks up playfully from between Shiro’s ass.

Clumsily trying to pull down his own trousers with his free hand, Keith runs his tongue along the puckered rim like how he did earlier, picking up Shiro’s sweat and the faint aftertaste of dried lube.

“Keep talking, officer. And don’t you dare come until I let you.”

Shiro’s knuckles go white with strain.

“The meeting, the Majors were there, they wanted to talk about a new order of blackbirds. They were looking for some recruits to ff— _ffffuck, Keith.”_

Keith doesn’t respond, too busy feeling the involuntary twitches of Shiro’s entrance whenever he rakes his teeth across the skin.

“The first time you turned the vibration up I could barely s-sit. Tried to put my weight on my thighs, then had to stand.”

_Shiro squirming, shifting in his seat, trying to lean forward on the table, gaze distracted and lost as he turns his attention inwards, towards the pleasure so close yet so far—_

“What did you say?”

“Nothing, _sir,”_ laughs Shiro breathlessly, the last chuckle trailing off, “There was a — _haa_ — a water cooler… I stood there and got a drink.”

“Cold?”

“Yeah.”

Keith snickers. He slowly increases the pressure on the wire, and Shiro tenses at the movement. “You won’t be so lucky next time.” He presses the flat of his tongue to the entrance, making sure Shiro can feel every brush of him.

“Fuck. Keith, Keith I wanna come…”

Finally, Keith’s trousers are around his ankles and he’s managed to wriggle out of his briefs. Eagerly, he wraps one hand around his own aching length and indulges in several languid strokes. “Tell me. Did you try to jerk off?”

“N-No, sir,” Shiro gasps. He’s settled for pressing his forehead ruthlessly against the table for some, any, control. “But I nearly came.”

_Shiro, his expression so blissfully lost,_

“Just from this in your ass? Dirty. And then?”

_Shiro, that too-far-gone twist as he lets his body overwhelm him completely—_

“I e-excused myself. Ran to the bathroom. Someone said I looked pale… said it was the heat.”

 _Shiro hurrying down the hallways, trying to walk as quick as he could while not trying to give the game away._ The thought makes Keith’s length throb. Pre oozes over Keith’s fingers and before he’s aware of it, his stroking has sped up.

“That’s hot,” Keith murmurs.

“Exactly what I said to them,” quips Shiro.

Keith’s hand stills. “… Really, officer?”

For this, Keith fastens his teeth on the wire and pulls, ruthlessly, and after a desperate buck Shiro is straining and trying to brace himself as the weight in his ass he’s carried around for the past five hours starts to force its way out.

 _“Shit,_ Keith — sir, sir sir Keith _p-please—”_

“Keep talking,” Keith warns from between his teeth, pausing in his movement. Now Shiro’s reddened entrance stretches around the slender black toy. Now that shameful mechanical whirr fills the room. Switching to hold the wire with his fingers, Keith leans close and kisses the rim of Shiro’s ass, where heated skin touches unfeeling silicone, then licks wetly.

Shiro presses his hips against the desk, surely desperately trying not to rub his cock all over the edge because, as he’s already known from experience, Keith knows how to handle a brush and make it _count._

“I made it to the bathroom and locked myself in the cubicle and gripped my cock hard until the urge went away,” babbles Shiro, midriff trembling and heaving involuntarily, “Please, sir—”

Shiro’s hips stutter. The limit’s coming soon, and Keith can understand why — it’s been a good five hours (five and a half hours, actually, if Keith counted the teasing blowjob he’d given Shiro just before he’d stuffed the man full with that silicone) and Shiro might have bullish stamina but he’s still human, still weak for all these delicious carnal touches.

“How did you touch yourself?”

“The way you did, sir, when you don’t let me come.” Shiro takes an audible, shaking breath, and then as if reading Keith’s mind adds, “Imagined it was your hand around my cock.”

_Shiro’s face, guiltily flushed, sweaty, lips parted between his gasps and gasps of Keith’s name for nobody else but him to hear._

Keith inhales. “Good.”

“Imagined it was your cock in my ass the entire time.”

Now it’s Keith’s turn to let out a breathless hiss of want. He can’t wait any more. “Gonna pull this out of you now, officer.”

“Want you, baby,” whines Shiro, as much _green_ as it is a plea for more.

Keith reaches for the lube as he carelessly tugs the toy from Shiro’s ass. With a tired groan, Shiro’s ass clenches to test the emptiness, his insides glistening the slickest, most tantalising crimson.

“You gonna fuck me now, sir?” Shiro’s propping himself up on the desk with his elbows, casting an exhausted but eager grin over his shoulder. His face, the tips of his ears, are all dusted Keith’s favorite color.

“Mhmm. Gonna fuck you good and hard, gonna fuck that cocky attitude right outta you.” Keith kicks the clothes around his feet to some distant corner of the room, quickly slicking himself up, drizzling more lube into Shiro’s ass.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Then I’m gonna make you ride me, and I’ll play with your cock while you stare into my eyes and beg for more, and not let you off until I’ve come twice, how about that, officer?”

Shiro’s expression falters, exactly the same way it did five hours ago. This was one of Keith’s favorite expressions. This was how Shiro looked like when he realised he was doomed, when he realised the way out had only been a cruel illusion and he’s in for a much rougher ride that he _wouldn’t turn down even if he could._

“Nah, just kidding,” grins Keith, reaching forward to card his fingers in Shiro’s hair and dropping a kiss along the shell of the man’s reddening ear. He sees his own expression mirrored in Shiro’s wild, intoxicated grin. “I’ve been thinking of fucking you for five hours. No way I’m giving that up.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The first thrust into Shiro’s ass is always the sweetest — not least because of that inebriating velvet slick overwhelming familiar heat but also because Shiro rocks back to meet him. Shiro’s ass meets his crotch eagerly and Keith groans, taking several shuddering breaths because there is no way to prepare for this, especially not when Shiro’s letting out small, satisfied groans beneath him from just being filled again.

Keith leans over and kisses Shiro’s sweaty forehead, then his temple, and fastens fingers in Shiro’s dark hair and twisting his head to give the perfect angle for a kiss on the lips.

They steal a moment to simply revel in the feeling of being pressed against each other’s lips. It doesn’t even matter that Shiro’s reading lamp lies a meter away with its plastic base cracked, or that Shiro’s head is uncomfortably close to Keith’s abandoned underwear, or that there’s perfectly good carpet under them both that will cost a bomb to dry clean if they get it dirty.

“Slut,” gasps Keith teasingly.

“You love it.”

“Almost sorry I do.” Keith smiles into the kiss, then rolls his hips. Shiro sags against the pleasure, back muscles rippling as he rides the swell of pleasure. “Seriously, the things I do for you. If I get caught I’m fucked.”

“I volunteer.” It’s Shiro’s turn to grin into the kiss and Keith bites down on his lower lip, but that doesn’t stop Shiro from laughing.

“Shut up. We’re supposed to be more into this roleplaying thing.”

Shiro clenches around Keith and the pleasure forces a shuddering breath from Keith’s lips.

“Well, then, please fuck me, sir.”

Keith tightens his grip on Shiro’s hair, presses his other hand between the man’s shoulders, harder and harder until Shiro’s arched fiercely beneath him. An experimental thrust has them both groaning, the pull and drag of Keith’s length the perfect speed and angle. One of Shiro’s hands clutch the desk leg for dear life, the other digging nails into the carpet.

“With pleasure, officer.”

With one last kiss to the back of Shiro’s neck Keith begins thrusting in earnest. His fingers dig ruthlessly into Shiro’s hips, and he’ll be damned if he isn’t hoping to bruise the pale marble skin there with his fingerprints. He can feel Shiro’s body tense in expectation of every thrust, that powerful body beneath him twisting for the perfect angle on every slide.

Shiro’s breaths are hot and heavy in the room, punctuated with half-whispers of _Keith, oh god, so good Keith._ It’s overwhelming and addictive and Keith can feel himself stumble towards the sheer crest of orgasm in record time, undone so easily by Shiro’s surrender and desire.

When he finally connects with Shiro’s prostate the man _tightens_ mercilessly around him. Keith lets out a yelp at the sudden pressure, hips stuttering into the overwhelming hotness.

“Shiro—”

“Gonna come,” Shiro’s voice is high strung, needy, shapeless. “Keith, baby, please, harder, please please harder _please,_ I’m so close, I’m _so close—”_

Shiro’s begged like this so many times now, but there’s an obvious note of physical exhaustion, too: there’s _no going back,_ this is Shiro’s limit, and whenever Keith hears it he denies Shiro no longer. Keith’s hand quickly goes to Shiro’s thick length and he’s almost surprised by how hot and hard it is, how it’s already slick with precome, how painful it must be to have held it in for so long. At the very touch, Shiro lets out a strained half whine, half sob, body quaking.

The thought unravels the last of Keith’s control — Shiro, Shiro holding it in for him, Shiro holding it in to be fucked by him, _his Shiro,_ coming for him, coming back to him, always coming back to him —

“Come for me, baby,” Keith gasps hotly, stroking Shiro fast and hard, watching as Shiro’s eyes go glassy as he gives in to that long overdue urge, “That’s it, just like that—”

Shiro’s moan of relief is shaky, watery, the way it is when it’s wrecked by pleasure so searing he can’t process the feeling. Shiro’s orgasm starts from his chest, coursing through his veins, his muscles, the impossibly growing heat in Keith’s hand — it ripples down his back in a lightning snap that seizes the rich tightness that engulfs Keith. And then Keith is dragged fiercely into the undertow with nothing more than the thought of Shiro, _his Shiro_ and the weight of that name on his lips.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“For someone who suggested the roleplay, you’re really shitty at it.” Keith flings Shiro’s underwear at him, but the stained white briefs snags on the corner of Shiro’s laptop instead.

The officer tuts and retrieves it, checking the screen to make sure there are no wayward precome stains there before replying, “Well, you enjoyed it. Every time I saw you in the corridors you had this… _hungry_ expression on your face. Did you even pay attention in class?”

“Didn’t want to. Couldn’t do it anyway. I’m more surprised you even lasted as long as you did.” Keith sways over to pick up his orange cadet trousers, smirking when he feels Shiro’s gaze settle heavily on his ass. “Eyes front now, officer.”

“Stop that.” Shiro’s voice comes out weak. “I don’t think I’ll be able to come for another day at least—”

A pause, then,

_“Oh god.”_

“What? What is it?” Keith whips around, nearly stumbling over his trousers as he hurries over to where Shiro’s standing.

Then he sees it.

“Shit,” says Keith.

“Yeah,” says Shiro.

There, amongst the fallen stationery and creased reports wedged between the table and the wall, the bottle of lube has fallen over and is leaking into the very expensive carpet.

“Well,” Keith gives an airy shrug, “You pay for cleaning, I’ll buy the next bottle of lube?”

Shiro rubs his temples with a frustrated exhale, genuinely stressed. Keith snickers and comes over, sliding one arm around Shiro’s waist.

“Aw, don’t be like that baby. We’ll clean it, no biggie. I know a way around to the toilets with plenty of CCTV blind spots.”

“Mm.” Shiro doesn’t sound convinced, but he nuzzles into Keith’s hair anyway, “That’s the cost of being a slut, huh?”

“You love it,” laughs Keith.

There’s a priceless smile in Shiro’s voice when he says, “Almost sorry you do too.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Endless paperwork. Seriously. You’d think the red tape loosens after one graduates from cadet-dom. But really, Shiro’s come to find out that in fact the converse is true: cadets have it easy, there’s hardly any forms to handle and dashes to be signed on and clearance stamps to be obtained and damn if Shiro doesn’t want a meteor to careen right out of space and onto the Garrison so it can incinerate him along with all of his managerial duties.

Sometimes the Garrison makes it seem that paperwork will be the one thing that can possibly save humanity at the end of the day.

He looks up at the sound of a knock. Focus and thought process broken, his mind races to reposition him amidst the more corporeal aspects of Garrison life: he’s in the correct grey uniform, the officer’s lounge is empty except for him, the time is 2058 hours, his reports are not due until 19 hours later, the lounge isn’t booked until an hour later for the officer’s table soccer night, and —

“Officer Shirogane?” It’s a different corporal this time, a young tired man by the name of Jun.

It’s not uncommon that corporals and section leaders direct ‘problem cases’, as they are so affectionately called, over to Shiro. After all Shiro owns the coveted _infinite patience_ that so many sergeants and majors alike claim is naught but legend —

— oh, if only they knew where he channels his frustration.

“Can I help you?”

Jun’s wearing a too-familiar look of resignation and guilty eagerness that does not bode well for Shiro at all. His pulse trips, breaks into a double-time sprint.

“Er,” says Jun with false hesitance, “I was hoping to get your advice on helping a cadet with his extra-curricular revision.”

With a nod over his shoulder the corporal beckons the problem case forward. Shiro takes in the raven-haired mullet, those deadened violet eyes, that unrepentant stare, the crossed arms and the tense body language that screams _deviant!_ and manages to look the cadet up and down without betraying _anything,_ all in all a challenge in itself.

“Of course. I’ll take it from here, Jun.”

Damningly, there’s something nestled in one of Keith’s pockets.

Shiro retreats behind one of his pleasant smiles as Jun lingers on the doorway in badly-veiled curiosity, so perfectly ignorant, so blissfully unaware.

“Guess it’s just you and me again today, cadet.”

Keith lowers his eyes with a feigned exhale of impatience, one hand already drifting down towards his trousers as he grits out, “... Yes, officer.”  


 

**Author's Note:**

> :))))))) hell ya
> 
> come scream about sheiths on [twitter](https://twitter.com/k_uill) :)


End file.
